Check Me Out
Today I want to talk to you about groundbreaking, state of the art technology. It seems like just yesterday that I had to hold my breath and look a judgmental, white trash, middle-aged woman in the eye every time I had to buy condoms. This does not have to go on any longer! Part of it is because I don’t use condoms anymore because STD’s are like the new Pokemon cards, “gotta catch ‘em all!”. The other part of it is because of these newfangled self-checkout lanes at my local Wal-Mart.
I’ll be honest, for a while I was a little weary of the self-checkout lane. I just simply wasn’t ready to give up dealing with the negative slobs that are the check out people. Seeing how pathetic these fucks lives are really brightened my day. I couldn’t wait to be regaled with stories about how they were made fun of in school by the jocks who are now 250 lbs, instead of their lean 200 lbs of Miller Light and trucker semen.
One day, however I was feeling a little bit saucy. So much so that I decided that I didn’t need the usual sob story pick-me-up. Not to mention that I was buying some semi-embarrassing personal products (may or may not be for the aforementioned fun STD collection game). So I figured my best bet would be the self-checkout line because they were wide-fucking-open. That’s another thing. Out of all the stores in town that could use self-checkouts how is Wal-Mart the first to offer it? Technology of that kind isn’t usually geared toward the Wal-Mart shopper, who on average has the IQ of a pine cone. Perhaps it’s just preemptive training for their inevitable future career.
So I slyly took my purchases to this futuristic device. I deduced that if Billy-Bob from lot 9 can figure this shit out I should be in and out of this terrible store in no time. As soon as rang up my first item something fucked up. All of a sudden bells, whistles, and flashing lights started going off. It felt like I accidentally pushed a self-destruct button of some sort. It felt like the Wal-Mart swat team was going to descend from the ceiling by rope in sweatpants and stained polo’s. I immediately had two employees next to me trying to help me out. The embarrassment level of purchasing these products had effectively doubled.
I found the whole situation extremely weird because all they had to do was cancel my shit and ring it back up. I could have done that myself, as it was my first thought anyways. So when I don’t really need help they jump all over my shit, yet when I need to find someone to get a video game out of the case for me, the entire staff goes on fucking vacation. To make matters worse I also bought a DVD that just happened to set off the theft alarm while I was walking out so I had to get anally raped by the greeter who had to check all up inside my bag.
What’s the point to all of this? Fuck Wal-Mart.
Category: General Posts
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